


Purple Hyacinth - Angst One-Shots

by macandcaseus



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Get ready for the pain train, If necessary, One Shot Collection, dont worry i hurt when i write these too, one shots will have specific warnings at the beginning of each, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macandcaseus/pseuds/macandcaseus
Summary: Just a place for me to dump any and all angsty one-shots I write.Please check notes at beginnings of chapters for any warnings!
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair & Tristan Sinclair, Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White, William Hawkes & Lauren Sinclair, William Hawkes/Kym Ladell
Comments: 31
Kudos: 69





	1. Flower Gunshot - Kym

**Author's Note:**

> Let's make Kym cry.
> 
> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIbtd4Wl5gL/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

The church is full - full of people, of flowers ringing the chapel, wrapped around columns and hanging from the pews. The chatter echoes through the massive stone room, a chorus not quite loud enough to drown Kym’s thoughts.

She sits in the pew at the very back, and though she doesn’t want to, she can’t tear her eyes from William at the front, beside the priest. His blond hair is smoothed, his navy suit pressed and perfect — and he won’t look at anyone in the pews.

Kym’s gaze drifts to a familiar head of red hair. Lauren and her uncle sit near the front, where she had tried to sit with them, but a few too many icy stares from Will’s father pushed her to stand, telling Lauren that she was just going to the restroom, but instead slid into the seat she’s in now. She can’t handle _him_ on top of—

The haunting chords of the organ thrum through the building. Heads turn when the heavy wooden doors begin to rumble open, and the clamor of hundreds of feet coming to stand shakes through Kym’s bones. She pushes herself up, her chest and throat tightening when Will’s fiancée, Roseanna Darcy, steps into the chapel and begins her path to the altar, her bouquet of bright yellow glowing against her pure white dress.

While everyone else’s eyes are on the bride, Kym’s gaze snaps back to Will, just quick enough to catch his eyes before he turns his attention to his wife-to-be.

All of the times she could have confessed to him — their late nights at the precinct, the moments they had alone during their search for Lune, times on patrol where they had to go off on their own — flood her memory, and she bites the inside of her cheek, not allowing the tears to spill over. Those hands she never got the chance to hold, the arms that never wrapped around her like she wished they would, the lips that she had spent entirely too much time dreaming of kissing — all of that slips through her fingers, caught by the train of Roseanna’s wedding dress and carried away.

And he hadn’t even _told_ her he was engaged until he was handing her the invitation, telling her _I hope you’ll be able to make it_ , barely making eye contact. She had been so shocked she couldn’t even form words, not even a false “thank you.” And then he had walked away, head low, and she was left in the locker room, staring at but not _seeing_ the names and date printed on the card until a single tear dropped from her eye and splashed on the overly-elaborate “H” of his last name.

“—take William Hawkes in holy matrimony?” the priest’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and Kym blinks, wiping at her eyes as she returns to the present.

“I do,” Roseanna’s voice rings out.

“And do you, William Hawkes, take Roseanna Darcy in holy matrimony?”

Kym watches him, waiting for him to turn his head, to look at her, to drop Roseanna’s hand and run down the aisle to her instead. _Please_ , she thinks, _you can’t really—_

“I do,” he says with a nod.

He bends toward her, her yellow bouquet pressed between their torsos, and it’s like a bullet to Kym’s chest when their lips meet, and the shockwave breaks through the dam in her eyes, letting the tears flow forth.

At least she’s the only one sitting this far back in the church. No one knows that she’s crying. No one can see the delicate, petal-like pieces of her heart falling to the church’s floor.


	2. Flower Gunshot - Kywi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An experiment in dark!Kym
> 
> Warning: Major Character Death, mention of apathy towards living/dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIuMlFwlvUV/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Laughter bubbled up her throat and danced from her lips. Will held her, searching her face, his eyes full of concern. “Kym. You can tell me. Whatever’s going on, I’m here for you. You know I am.”

Tears had always stung her eyes, so much so she had no choice but to close them, and when the brush of Will’s sleeve, undoubtably pulled over his thumb, wiped at her face - because he _knew_ her, he _knew_ the reason she hated to cry was how much it hurt - it only made her sob harder.

She never should have let it get this far. Her orders had been to find a way to spy on Stefan Hawkes - she could have carried that out any way she wanted. Gotten a job in his home. Become his driver. But no, her dramatic ass _had_ to seduce his son - his incredibly handsome, kind, and lovely son.

Of course, she knew there would be other benefits. Rubbing elbows with the highest in society, which only allowed for more information to give to the Phantom Scythe. Eating at restaurants she usually never would have dreamed of stepping in. The attention of someone so frustratingly gorgeous, reserved for her and her alone …

And that was when her stupid heart _had_ to actually fall for him.

So in between the hours spent desperately trying to convince herself she was not falling in love, she still had to go out and take care of her assignments. She wasn’t “the Blue Shadow” for nothing, after all. One of the few Phantom Scythe assassins known for using guns, her bullets never. Ever. Missed their mark - and that mark was always found with skin turned blue around the wound from the poison her bullets were coated with.

And though she knew she could never wash the poison from her hands, at least before she hadn’t cared. She didn’t care if she was caught, if she got away, if she had to kill one or two or ten people a night. When she had nothing to live for, why should she care if her work ended up being the death of her?

But now, she had something she cared about again. And he was holding her in his arms, watching her laugh through the pain of her heart snapping in two, at a loss for what to do to help her.

“I can’t tell you Will. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you can. Please. Whatever you’re holding, I want to hold it with you. I want to help. Kym … I love you.”

She buried her face in his chest, the laughter bleeding into uncontrolled sobs now. “I have no choice. If I don’t do this, they’ll hurt you even worse. And I won’t be around to stop it.”

“What are you talking about?”

She lifted her face to his and wrapped her hand around the back of his head, fixing his gaze on her. “Look at me, Will. Don’t look away.” She took a deep breath, trying to stop her trembling voice and lungs. “If you just focus on me, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

She sniffed, trying to keep herself from breaking again. “Do you remember the first time you sang the Lullaby to me?”

“Yes.”

“That. That was the moment I fell in love with you. I want you to remember that, okay?”

Will opened his mouth, brows furrowing. “Okay. You know, if I didn’t have the feeling you’re about to drop some bomb on me, I would be really flattered right-“

With her other hand, the one she had been holding behind her back, where her gun was hidden in the waistband of her pants, she pressed the barrel to his chest and pulled the trigger.

She didn’t even hear the gunshot. Louder than that, louder than anything she would ever hear again, was Will’s soft gasp as his eyes went wide, then dim, and the arms around her dropped away.

She collapsed to the floor, clutching Will’s body to her. His blood welled onto her chest as her tears fell onto his. No one to wipe them away anymore, even at the moment they hurt the most.

A scream poured from her throat, muffled against his shirt. A wave of nausea spun through Kym’s head and she held onto him, still somehow the only thing that could keep her steady. Her eyes burned, and her hands and chest were slick with his blood.

She had no choice. If she didn’t do it, someone else was going to, and she could only trust herself to do it as mercifully as possible. Besides, if she didn’t do it, someone else would have been asked. And if she ignored orders, she probably would’ve been made to watch.

So instead she moved in close, the Blue Shadow wrapping around her victim like she had never done before. Because if she didn’t pull the trigger this close, she would have missed.

And the Blue Shadow never missed her target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm... i'm so, so sorry


	3. Flower Gunshot - William

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CId2oJVlyAH/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

The crowd dissipated, leaving Will beside the mound of dirt, staring at the polished marble headstone.

_Josephine Hawkes_

_Beloved wife, caring mother_

First his brother, gone. His mother clung to life for as long as she could, but once her mind went … well. Will wasn’t dead to her. He didn’t even exist. And his father …

Will turned, glancing in the direction his father had stalked to once the gravediggers started filling in the hole. Stefan was talking to some stragglers, but even from this distance, Will could tell he didn’t want to be talking to whoever was with him—though maybe he could just tell that because he knew what his father was really like.

He hadn’t lost his father because he had never really had one.

All throughout the service, he hadn’t let himself cry. With everyone who came, his father wouldn’t have wanted him to. “We have a public face to maintain, William,” he’s said before, “and that face isn’t tarnished with _crying_.”

But even now, standing alone at his mother’s grave, with his throat tight and eyes burning, his tears wouldn’t fall. His sorrow threatened to suffocate him, and there was nothing he could do to relieve it.

“Will?”

He turned, and there beside him was Lauren, cradling a bouquet of blue flowers—his mother’s favorite color. She gave him a soft smile, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m here,” she whispered, turning her gaze to the grave.

Silence wrapped them, heavy and thick as the clouds in the sky, until Lauren broke it again. “At least she’s not suffering anymore.”

He cleared his throat, nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s okay to miss her.”

He took in a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look at his father. “If he … gets any worse, just let me know.”

Will scoffed, shaking his head. “What would you be able to do about him?” he asked, voice empty of emotion.

“Be someone you can go to if you ever need. Will,” she leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes. “You’re one of my best friends. I love you. I’m always, _always_ here if you need a distraction from his bullshit.”

Will groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and hanging his head. “What I _need_ to do to get him off my back is find Lune,” he sighed before a shock of panic cracked through him. He looked at her, and she was staring at him, her eyes wide, mouth agape. “I– _shit_ ,” he said, shutting his eyes. “You weren’t– I wasn’t–”

“I know, Will.”

“Hm?” He blinked, turning to her. “You … you know?” His heart hammered. _Just another thing I missed up. Something else for Hermann to reprimand me over, for my dad to berate me for not getting right._ “Did Kym tell you?”

Lauren shook her head. “No. I … figured it out myself.”

He rubbed his forehead, groaning. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Of course not, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

He shook his head again, lips pressing together, fighting through the lump lodged in his throat. “Yeah. I know. I just …” his shoulders shook as he dragged in a breath. “If I can do this, maybe my father will finally get off my back for a bit.”

They were quiet for a moment, before Lauren asked, “You think he would?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he said, his voice ragged with the combination of sorrow and stress numbing his heart and mind.

Another silence stretched between them. Will stared at the headstone for one more moment before sighing and turning. “I better get home–"

“I’m Lune.”

Will stopped before turning back to Lauren. “What?”

She didn’t look at him, just clutched the flowers to her chest, staring at his mother’s grave.

“Lauren. You’re not being serious.” He swallowed, heart pounding. “Right?”

She turned to him, eyes shining with tears. “I–” She bit her lip, averting his gaze.

Everything drained from him—grief, anxiety, anger—and for a moment, he was empty. Scooped hollow. His heart didn’t beat. Breath escaped his lungs.

But what is hollow must be filled, and in the next instant he was drowning beneath dread, overwhelming him until his dam finally broke, and that tightness in his throat released, tears falling from his eyes as he stared at his oldest friend, her own eyes closed as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“No,” he whispered, the only thing he could manage to say.

All Lauren did was nod, staring at the flowers in her arms.

“You … you’re Lune?” A laugh, staring soft but growing, falling recklessly from his lips, pushed through the air between them. “Of course. Of course you are. Why am I so surprised?” He covered his face, his head ringing as though he had been shot. They were quiet for another moment before he said, “I _have_ to turn you in, Lauren. I can’t … I can’t …”

“I know, Will,” Lauren said, a tremor in her voice. “That’s why I told you.” She looked up at him, sniffling. “So hopefully your father will let you rest for a little while. You need it. Badly.”

Will’s mind spun— _What will my dad do? Hermann? How will_ Kym _react?_ —and Lauren walked forward to place the flowers at his mother’s headstone, resting her hand on the top of it for a moment, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath.

“Why would you do this?” Will asked, staring at the ground.

Lauren sighed. “It’s … a very complicated story–”

“No, Lauren.” Will shook his head. “I know you became Lune so you could work outside the law to go after the Phantom Scythe. Of course that’s why _you_ would do that,” he snapped. “I want to know why you decided to tell me today of all days.”

Lauren stuttered before saying, “Will, seeing you so beat down by your father all these years has been _awful_ , and now that your mother is gone, there’s nothing keeping him from being even worse! I can’t let that happen–”

“So you decided that on top of burying the last member of my family today, I’m also going to have to say goodbye to my _best friend_?” he shouted, his eyes snapping to hers.

Lauren froze, staring at him, tears beading her lashes. “I–” she managed after a moment, “I didn’t think–”

“You never do, do you?” Will wiped at an eye with the heel of his hand.

“ _Will_.”

“I’m going home,” he said, turning away from her, hunching his shoulders. “I guess … expect to be called in for questioning soon.”

He started walking, and was almost too far away before he could hear her reply, “Like I said. I’m always here for you, Will.”

He didn’t acknowledge that he heard. He simply closed his eyes, putting one foot in front of the other as that tightness came back, as the walls around his heart and mind rebuilt, keeping the rest of his tears from spilling out.

 _No,_ he thought. _You won’t be. Not anymore._


	4. Flower Gunshot - Lauki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Major Character Death
> 
> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIt6Of7FCwm/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Lauren’s feet pounded against the cobblestones. Ahead of her, the man they needed to interrogate about Apostle VII’s plans sprinted through the alleyway. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and each breath she dragged in was like a stab to her lungs—not helped by her Lune mask covering her nose and mouth.

She leveled her gun at the man’s legs— _Only have to slow him down—_ and fired, the pistol’s kickback echoing on her palm.

At that same moment, another person plummeted from above, crashing onto the running man, and the bullet buried itself in the falling body instead as both collapsed to the ground.

Lauren froze, refusing to believe it, even as the hat rolled off and shoulder-length black hair spilled out. Her chest tightened, and though her mind screamed at her to go after the man pulling himself out from under Kieran’s body and sprinting away, she raced to her partner, gun clattering to the ground as she fell to her knees, ripping her scarf off to press to the darkening stain on his coat. “Hey. _Hey._ Can you hear me? Can you talk?” she asked, trying not to let her voice shake.

Kieran coughed, his eyelids fluttering. “L- Lauren,” he stammered before his face twisted in pain.

“Alright, come on, can you walk? Do you have any idea where the nearest hospital is around here?” She rolled him onto his back, sliding her knees under his head.

His eyes opened, and for a moment they were just as brilliant of a blue as usual, until his breath dragged the luster out of them, rattling in his chest. They closed.

She pulled his mask off, then hers. “Kieran,” she said, voice dull. “Kieran!” she repeated, sharper, trying to prod him awake with the sound. She gently smacked the side of his face, pressing harder into the wound. _Keep pressure on it_. “I don’t know everything you’ve been through, but I know a gunshot isn’t enough to kill you. _Don’t let it be,”_ she said, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.

She pulled his scarf from his neck, tying it around his waist, her own still bundled against the wound. “If you die here, everything we’ve been working for will be done. The two of us could barely get anything done, how the hell am I supposed to keep going on my own?”

Kieran cleared his throat, and her gaze snapped to him, watching the blood drip from the corner of his mouth. “You- you’re _so_ smart, Lauren. And driven. And strong. If anyone can take down the Phantom Scythe on their own, it’s you.”

“But I don’t _want_ to do it on my own,” she said, her voice thick as she wiped the blood from his face. She took in a shaky breath. “Come on. We have to get you to a hospital.” She lifted his arm around her shoulders and tried to push them to standing, but, _Dammit, he’s heavy._ “Kieran, come _on!_ ” she snapped. “You have to help me out here,” she said, her voice fracturing as his arm slipped from her grasp.

His other hand lifted, and she caught it, bringing it to her lips without thinking.

“Lauren,” he whispered, not even opening his eyes. “I know … I know you didn’t mean to shoot me.” A ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips. “For once.”

“Shh,” she said, tears pricking at her eyes, grip on his hand tightening.

“Listen to me.” He broke off to cough again, and when she reached to wipe the blood away, he stopped her hand, holding them both, and she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “In my apartment, in the top drawer of the dresser by the locked room, is the key. I wanted to give you something in there.” He drew in another breath, his face going pale. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

“You can give it to me yourself—”

“No,” he said, squeezing her hands. “I can’t. You know I can’t. This…” he trailed off, and her heart clenched until his eyes focused on her again. “This is where our partnership ends, Officer.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, trying to keep her tears from falling. “God, you can never stop being so _dramatic_ , can you?” She pulled his arm back over his shoulder. “Come on. We’re doing this for real this time.”

With her other arm under his back, she propped him up, and they both groaned as she pushed to her feet. He bent his legs with her rising, and she tilted so he could lean on her. She refused to collapse under his weight, though, stumbling forward on trembling legs for a few steps.

But he was too much for her shaking body. She angled so he would fall on her, refusing to let him take any more damage than he already had, and she winced as she thudded against the ground, the pain lancing through her bones finally enough to release her tears.

“Kieran,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and cheeks, her chest tightening. “This was a mistake, I- I’m so, _so_ sorry.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head, hair falling on his chest.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice weak. She sat back up, and he reached for her face, fingers tracing her jawline, and she leaned into his touch. “I’ve wanted to be human again for _years_. But you gave me the strength to try. Even though I haven’t been good at it.”

He let out a heavy breath, closing his eyes, and Lauren sobbed, holding his face, repeating strings of words that she wasn’t even sure made sense, just anything in an attempt to keep him focused on her, keep him from dying in her arms.

She didn’t even know how long it had been by the time she realized his chest had stopped moving. She pressed her ear against him, but there was no sound.

Lauren remained, laying across him, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other laced through his hair. She didn’t blink as tears streamed from her eyes. She didn’t even make any sound.

“This wasn’t supposed to be the end, Kieran,” she whispered against him. “Not for us. Not like this.”

  
  



	5. Flower Gunshot - Lauren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIjCAq9hcOw/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Lauren shut and locked the door behind her, avoiding the creaky spot on the floor, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness in her uncle’s house before heading to the stairs.

“Lauren?”

She froze, heart drumming against her chest. “Uncle. What are you doing up?”

She turned to see him standing by the phone, a lantern lit beside him, forehead in his hand “I could ask you the same. I just got off a call with Dakan.”

“Oh, how’s he doing?”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You’re avoiding my question, Lauren.”

She crossed her arms, forcing a light laugh out. “You didn’t ask one.”

“I thought it was implied.” He held out an arm, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she stepped forward to accept his hug, a wave of childhood nostalgia washing over her—all those times he would hug her, carry her on his shoulders, let her lead him through the 11th precinct instead of the other way around. 

“Just … I was out with someone.”

“Oh?” Tristan asked, and she could hear the eyebrow raised in his voice. “A special someone?”

Lauren scoffed. “Hardly.”

“It’s pretty late to be out with someone unless they’re some kind of special to you.”

She stepped away from his hug, rolling her eyes. “I think you want me to start dating someone too much, Uncle.”

He laughed, and she smiled at him. “So,” she continued, “what does Dakan have to say? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He sends his well wishes,” Tristan answered, quieting. “We … well. We were discussing how to handle the Lune situation, assuming they’re ever caught.”

Lauren’s eyes widened, and she fought to keep her face surprised instead of panicked. “Oh. I see.”

“Yes.” Tristan sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “I don’t think any of us expected this to drag on for so long. I know Hermann is upset with the lack of progress in finding their identity.”

“You could say that,” Lauren said, crossing her arms.

Tristan looked at her, sympathy creasing his forehead and making him frown. “Oh, honey, I really am sorry about how he’s treated you ever since you’ve been demoted. You know, I _can_ talk to him about it–“

“No, Uncle. No offense, but I’m sure that would only make things worse.” She shook her head. “Then he’d just have to keep all his frustration with me bottled up until I do something that would make him explode.”

“Well. Hopefully no more explode-worthy mistakes, right?” he said, ruffling her hair.

Despite herself, Lauren laughed—though it was more an anxious laugh than anything else. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know you are.”

But her Lune-lit nights filled her mind, a mistake that would cause more than an explosion if she was ever found out. “Am I allowed to know what you and Dakan decided about Lune?”

Tristan sighed. “Well, it’s difficult. Best-case scenario, they’re not affiliated with the Phantom Scythe at all, and they merely get jail time for vigilantism. Granted, I imagine the jail time would be a while, but … considering the fact that they are most likely connected to the Phantom Scythe somehow, with all the information they have access to, the punishment will be much steeper. Not a death penalty, of course, but … exile, perhaps? It’s difficult to say before we know who it is and what their motives are.”

“Of course.”

Her face must’ve slipped into something more serious, because he reached to tap her on the chin. “Hey. Don’t worry. With you helping to hunt Lune down, they don’t stand a chance.”

“Mhm,” she murmured, fighting through her tightening chest, struggling to maintain eye contact with her uncle.

“Are you worried it’s one of your friends?” Tristan frowned and furrowed his brows. “I know some think at least part of the team could be a member of your precinct.”

“I …” she held her arms, looking down. “I mean, I guess it’s possible.”

“You know,” he said, his voice soft, “we’re going to have to punish them fairly, no matter who it is?”

Lauren nodded, still refusing to look at him. “I know.”

They both stood in silence before Tristan heaved another sigh. “Well. It’s late. We both need to head to bed. You need some sleep after your … not date.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Thanks, Uncle. Goodnight.”

She didn’t let herself cry as she walked up the stairs. She didn’t let herself cry as she walked down the hallway, the walls she ran through as a child closing in on her, because she couldn’t hide her secrets from them. It wasn’t until she was in her bedroom, the instant her door was shut, that she let her heart burst, shrapnel falling to the floor.

_He really has no clue,_ she thought, forcing one foot in front of the other, headed to her bed. _None of them do_. She sank to the mattress, wrapping her arms around her pillow—how she used to wake up after nightmares, clutching the softness to her as though it could protect her from the violence she dreamed of.

She buried her face in it, guilt rushing through her mind, the faces of everyone who she was betraying—her uncle, Dakan, Kym, Will, everyone in the precinct—pressing against her eyelids.

She was lying to them all, and she would have to for the rest of her life. The one thing she had always strived to unmask in others, she would have to become.

And most of the time, that was worse than the uncertainty of what would await her if she was ever caught.


	6. Ep. 75 "Tumbling Tower" - William

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know Mother is dying? And when she sees me, she calls for you?!”

“Did you know Mother is dying? And when she sees me, she calls for _you_?!”

Ten years. Ten years of anger, frustration, betrayal, all coiled in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for that pressure to release.

Waiting for him to break.

Memories played in reverse through his mind.

The first time his mother called him “Rafael” and his heart shattered at the realization that it wouldn’t be the last, that he would have to become the person who had _abandoned_ her, because she refused to let him go. At least if he could give himself up in the present, her past wouldn’t hurt so bad.

The moment it became clear Rafael was gone. His father’s eye shifted to him, a spotlight he had no hope of escaping from. He knew his brother had expectations to live up to, expectations he never wanted to have, but were forced on him, binding as the Hawkes’ signet ring their father gave him when he turned sixteen. All Will cared about at the time was that his brother was given something so nice while he wasn’t. But under his father’s spotlight, even fiercer than the one over Rafael, he had to fight not to let every bit of him burn away into what his father wanted him to be.

He finally got his own ring, but he never chose to wear it on his own.

The last time he saw his brother, not knowing it would be his last. The chugging and whistling of trains swirling around them, the gentle smile Rafael gave him. The way he had clung to Rafael’s waist, not wanting to let go, but knowing, deep down, that his brother would only be gone for a few days at most.

_Why did I let go?_

And of course. Every piano lesson. Every duet his brother taught him to play, his hands always so much nimbler than Will’s own, just getting used to dancing over the keys instead of tripping. The way he would guide Will’s hands over the correct notes, teaching him the different markings in his stacks of sheet music, showing him the easiest ways to play each and every song. Never getting frustrated when Will would mess up. Always so patient as he tried over and over to get it right. The joy on his face when Will finally played the songs flawlessly, feeding into the pride that glowed in Will’s chest.

Even after all this time, it was those moments that he looked back on when he needed to cheer himself up. When he needed to relieve stress after a difficult day. The happiest hours of his life were spent at that piano, with his brother by his side.

“And you’re _sorry—"_ he choked out, that coil in him releasing, pushing tears from his eyes.

His mother only saw Rafael because she didn’t remember Will at all.

But each time Will sat down to play for the past ten years, he remembered _everything_.

When he sat at his piano, he saw every movement of Rafael’s hands over his own. And there was no escape from those memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea for this after 75 came out for fast pass - didn't actually write it until the day it came out for free. 
> 
> My heart hurts for William Hawkes.


	7. Ep. 75 "Tumbling Tower" - Lauren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They were Apostles.”

“They were Apostles.”

It’s strange how heavy words can be. How they can fall upon one’s ears like fists, deafening all sound, and while one sense is taken away, they strike at the gut— _instant, knee-jerk denial_ —go for the throat— _a furious jab, stealing breath away_ —and before escape is possible, the hit to the heart, the hardest one— _shattered. An entire foundation falling to ruin, with nothing to do but fall with it. Fall far, and fall fast, with no time to collect the pieces before crashing to the ground_. For things made of nothing more than vibrations in the air, it should be impossible for words to leave such destruction in their wake.

 _They_ … were _Apostles_.

The Allendale explosions echo through her head, and the heat of the flames are full of such force that, even now, she has to push through them in order to escape the memory.

But in order to do that, she has to endure the smoke in her lungs, braiding through strands of hair whipping in the wind and weaving into her dress’s fabric, sinking so deep into her limbs that for days afterward she can still _smell_ it on her. The ash she walks through that coats the soles of her feet and dusts her so that she blends into the ruins. The embers that settle on her skin, pinprick constellations of pain—until she finds his cap, and she’s torn in two, a pain worse than any burn could have been.

Then she hears it, her scream, the sound of her happiness smoldering around her. Her palms remember the bite of her fingernails, digging through the cap as she curls into herself in the center of the inferno. But no matter how many tears she cries, the fire around her doesn’t go out. And no matter how long she waits, he never comes back.

One good thing came from that day. When she rose from the ashes, she had a new purpose, one she held as tightly as his hat, refusing to let it fall to pieces, too. And she told _them_ what she wanted to do to the people that organized the attack. She didn’t know that even then, there was no one. _No one_. She could trust.

Bile rises in her throat, but the rope around her wrists prevents her from leaning forward. Her vision spins, heart hammering against her chest. Tears carve their way down her face, and when she lets out a sob, she finally breaks free of memory’s hazy smoke. Fresh air fills her lungs with a gasp, and she tries to blink away the burning in her eyes.

But she’s still falling through her foundation’s rubble. And she has a long way to go until she hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like with the Will drabble I wrote for this episode, I had this idea when it came out for fast pass. I wrote it that night and posted it in the Fandom Scythe fast pass channel.
> 
> Honestly, this is probably one of my favorite fics I've ever written.


	8. Flower Gunshot - Kieran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They match._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Sophism's illustration: https://www.instagram.com/p/CIbYZlqlPp2/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _

They match. With their bloodstained clothes. Empty eyes. Soft swaying, though the man’s is by his neck. Kieran, at least, is still on his feet. 

That metallic stench will never wash from his hands, and no matter how hard he’ll try to drown the taste from his tongue, it will always be there. Every swallow will carry a slice of this memory, thrown into sharp blacks and whites, stained around the edges with red. 

He can’t look up. But he does watch the crimson pool grow, spreading across the floor. The thought of it reaching his shoes if he stands there long enough crosses his mind, and he frowns. But he can’t move. He can only watch the blood creeping ever closer. 

_ “Do not become the monster they want you to be, do you hear me, Kieran?” _

That voice echoes in his mind, repeating the plea over and over again, the volume increasing each time until, through all the barriers he put up between them, the face breaks through. A face, contorted in fear and desperation, fingers gripping Kieran’s shoulders, deep enough that he can trick himself into imagining those hands are still there—before they’re torn away by hazy memory. 

Kieran pulls in a breath, clenching his fists, trying to stop his body from shaking. But the red pool has only grown bigger, and he has one last thing he has to do. 

He can’t let himself dwell. He has to keep going. 

Reaching trembling fingers into a pocket in his coat, over his heart, he takes out a flower. A purple hyacinth, chosen by him for its meaning. He takes halting steps closer to the bloodstain, slowing its spread by this point. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice not even loud enough to be called a whisper. He lets it fall from his hand, splashing into the middle of the blood, watching its petals soak in the red. That voice keeps ricocheting like bullets through his mind, and he chokes on the words he tries to force out.

He knows if he says them, it’ll be real. He can’t pass off the breath slowing, the eyes rolling back, the way the pulse around his blade stopped—he could  _ feel _ it as he clutched the knife’s handle with an iron grip—as an awful dream. In admitting it to himself, to the flower that was more red than purple now, he can never go back to who he was, who he wanted to be for  _ their _ sake.

But if he didn’t say it, the guilt would kill him faster than anything else he would face on the path he was being dragged down.

“I’m sorry I’ve become the monster I promised you I wouldn’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also partially inspired by "If I Killed Someone For You" by Alec Benjamin


End file.
